Let's set aside whether Draco actually touched anything—and ignore Pansy, who now looked both flustered and furious, like she was ready to leap at Draco and bite him again, just like last time.
High above the field, the Slytherin Quidditch team, still mid-training, had already noticed their arrival.
Even though Draco and Pansy hadn't made their presence known, two figures standing so clearly at the edge of the pitch were impossible to miss.
Soon, one by one, the Slytherin players swooped down from the sky and landed in front of them...
"Slytherin robes... looks like they're first-years."
"Light blond hair—that must be our new team member."
"The one Professor Snape handpicked?"
"Showing up to practice just now? Thinks he's some kind of prodigy?"
"Keep it down, don't let them hear—he's from the Malfoy family."
"I don't see what's so special about him. Why even let a first-year join the team?"
As they landed, Draco could hear the whispers—none of them subtle, none of them friendly. It was obvious they weren't even trying to hide their discontent.
And it was equally obvious that most of them weren't the least bit happy about him joining the team.
Pansy's brows shot up, her expression darkening. Just as she opened her mouth to speak, Draco raised a hand to stop her.
"This kind of reaction? Honestly, we should've expected it."
Unlike Pansy's anger, Draco remained calm, his eyes scanning the players in front of him. This was exactly the kind of situation he had anticipated.
After all, getting on the Quidditch team meant you were talented—especially on a squad that had won the Cup five years running.
It was only natural that these players were proud. So when someone like Draco was parachuted in without going through the usual selection, of course they'd reject him. It was inevitable.
After all, Draco hadn't earned his spot the normal way...
'Did my godfather seriously not consider this might happen?'
Snape was the one who had made the decision, yet he'd done nothing to help Draco deal with the aftermath.
Was it because he believed Draco could handle it on his own? Or because, in Snape's eyes, this wasn't even worth worrying about?
Draco couldn't guess what his godfather was thinking. But was he supposed to just pretend he hadn't heard anything and bow his head to these people?
If that were the case, then he wouldn't be Draco Malfoy.
"Well then, let's settle this the Slytherin way—with strength. I'll start with your captain."
"..."
"..."
No one had expected that.
The Slytherin players' expressions shifted. Then, almost in unison, their eyes turned toward their captain.
This was Slytherin.
If you couldn't show strength, you'd never earn the recognition—let alone the loyalty—of these proud, ambitious students.
Which meant, if Draco wanted a place on the team—or wanted to change anything at all—he had to show them what he was made of.
He stepped forward, gripping the broomstick he had brought with him in his right hand, and locked eyes with Marcus Flint, who looked less than pleased at being challenged.
The fastest, most direct way to settle this was to let his strength do the talking.
After all, in Slytherin, strength was the only language that mattered...
And as for whether this challenge was also to get a little payback for a certain wildcat?
Well, only Draco—smiling quietly to himself—knew the answer.
...
Becoming strong is simple.
All you have to do is keep improving yourself, beat others one by one, and climb to the top of the pyramid. That alone is enough to be considered powerful.
But to be a king, simply becoming an unmatched powerhouse through hard work isn't enough.
You have to understand right from wrong, bring hope to others, possess the capacity to embrace all, and have the kind of charisma that makes people want to follow you.
Rather than just being strong, it's about leading the weak to defeat the powerful and giving them hope.
That's what it means to be a king!
Since that day, Draco began to change.
It wasn't a superficial shift from low-profile to high-profile behavior.
If the old Draco had drawn other wizards to him because of the Malfoy name and his obvious potential, earning their reverence and attention passively...
Then the current Draco had started actively showcasing his strength and charm...
"Thank you so much, Miss Parkinson. Without your help, we really wouldn't have known what to do."
"Gary, don't flatter yourself. I didn't do it for you."
Gary Rosier was one of the Prefects who had pledged loyalty to Draco during the Sorting Ceremony.
Now, standing behind Pansy on the edge of the pitch, he gazed at Draco in the sky, muttering things the others couldn't quite make out.
Pansy, on the other hand, showed no surprise at Gary Rosier's presence.
It seemed bringing Draco here had been part of a plan she and Gary had set from the beginning...
"And besides, this was Draco's decision. It had nothing to do with me."
She tilted her head slightly, casting a sidelong glance at Gary Rosier, then turned her gaze to the radiant golden figure gleaming in the sunlight.
Draco, mid-air, locked in combat.
Come to think of it, Pansy now looked completely different from the girl who stood before Draco earlier.
She no longer resembled that easily-flustered puppy content with a simple head-pat.
No—this version of Pansy, with her status as a member of one of the Sacred Twenty-Eight, radiated queenly elegance. This was the true little princess of the Parkinson family...
Gary, meanwhile, didn't seem fazed at all by her cold demeanor.
His eyes burned with intensity as he watched Draco on the field, whispering in a voice only he could hear.
"There's not much time left... hurry up and grow, King of Slytherin..."
He didn't say "Prince of Slytherin."
He said—King.
The King of Slytherin.